A Photo Finish: A Small Town Second Chance Romance (Gold Rush Ranch Book 2)

I BLINK at the screen of my phone as though it might change what I’m seeing.

The corner of one long-lashed eye, looking straight up at the camera. Like she might look up at me if she were down on her knees at my feet. Wet blonde hair, plastered to small, round, perfect tits, the valley between them glistening with droplets of water. I imagine one rolling down her body, over her stomach, to the mound between her legs. Getting caught in that small, pale patch of hair before dripping right over her clit.

Fuck. What am I supposed to do now? This girl has firmly friend-zoned me for the last year and then drops the sexiest fucking nude I’ve ever seen. Fresh out of the shower, wet and ready. She took it for me. Without me even paying her. Because she wanted to. And somehow that just hits different.

Golddigger85: Is that an invitation?

Pretty_in_Purple: Yes.

Jesus. My cock twitches, and my pulse thunders in my ears. I swear I look around my condo just to see if someone is going to jump and out and scream about me being punked or something. This whole scenario just seems so fucking unbelievable.

But she didn’t send me that picture for me to be a shrinking violet. It’s time to play.

Golddigger85: Good. Prop your phone up, swap to video and kneel on your bed.

The chat is silent for a minute, and I wonder if she’s changed her mind as I adjust myself in my pants. Maybe she’ll back out. That’s fine too. Whatever she wants. But, fuck. I hope she wants this. Because I do. To see the real thing rather than imagining her while lying around with my cock in my hand.

Her face fills the screen, and I feel like someone just suctioned all the air out of my lungs and left me on the ground gasping. She’s incredible. Fascinating—ethereal almost. Eyes a little too big, cheeks a little too full, chin a little too sharp.

“Hi, Butterface.” A small smile touches her mouth, and her cheeks turn the prettiest shade of pink. I love that. She’s genuine. She’s brave.

She’s fucking beautiful. The kind of beauty that makes you stop and stare. The kind of beauty you want to study. I don’t draw, but suddenly I’m overcome by the need to sketch her face. Her rosebud mouth. To document her. She’s like a porcelain doll.

Yeah. And you’re going to fucking shatter her.

I brush my intrusive thoughts aside. I wouldn’t. I can be a gentleman. I liked her long before I knew she’d make my heart seize up in my chest. We were friends first.

This is fine.

I turn my microphone on, but don’t accept the app’s request to access my camera. That can never happen. Not only am I probably too recognizable, but I hate the thought of opening myself up again. To be ridiculed and made to feel less than. I won’t ever do that again. That took me too low, and I have too much baggage to dip down into that headspace again.

“You are fucking beautiful,” I say, hating how gravelly my voice comes out. I sound downright emotional.

She looks away with a quiet “Thank you.” Her legs are squeezed together tight, and she holds her arms over her torso like a shield.

“Are you uncomfortable?”

Her eyes roll, and her laugh comes out as a nervous titter before she looks straight into the camera. Pinning me with her gaze, crystalline like the water in the tropics. “Of course, I am. I’ve never done this before.”

Does it make me a douche for wanting to beat my chest over that? Probably. But I don’t care. She hasn’t done this with anyone before, but she’s doing it with me. My sad, tattered sense of self-worth latches onto that knowledge with a death grip. “What can I do to make it better for you?”

I watch goosebumps rise across her forearms as she rubs her biceps as if that might comfort her. “Turn your camera on.” She rolls her lips together, her expression implying that she already knows I’m going to deny her request.

I’m hit with an overwhelming sense of shame that I can’t do this for her. The one thing she wants. I just can’t. My voice cracks when I admit it to her. “I can’t.”

One small dip of her chin later, she drops her arms, baring her naked body to me. “Okay. Then talk. You promised me the best orgasm of my life.”

My cock jumps again as I watch her mouth make the “o” shape that goes with saying “orgasm”, and I pull it out of my pants, gripping it tightly, jerking it a few times. Pretending it’s her soft hand instead of mine.

“Do you have a toy you like?”

Her tongue darts out over her lips, and her voice is breathy as she replies, “Yes.”

“Good. Get it out, but don’t use it yet. I want to watch you fuck your fingers first.”

My palm rasps over my steely length. I’m sure she can hear me fucking my hand while I watch her, but I’m beyond caring.

“Jesus,” she mutters as she leans over toward the bedside table, trying not to show too much. Like she’s going to be able to avoid that.

“Now lie back on your pillows and spread your legs.”

She flushes deep crimson as her legs slowly part.

Holy fuck. I growl and pump harder at my dick, feeling my balls tighten at the sight. Never has someone looked so perfectly made for me. The teeth digging into her lip, the pretty pink that applies to what’s between her legs as well. The only thing that’s missing is my cum on her tits.

I wish I were there to touch her. To press her knees wide open and then run my fingers through her wet heat. To feel her pussy twitch and squeeze and go slick around me. I’m panting at the thought, trying to keep myself from blowing already. I need to slow down.

“On all fours. Let me see that tight ass.” I watch her raptly. So eager to please. “Good. Now look over your shoulder at me.”

“Fuck me. You are incredible.” I say it, and I mean it. Wide blue eyes, slightly parted lips, hair plastered against her cheek, and that perfect round ass. It’s almost more than I can take.

I have so much planned. So many positions to put her in. So much pleasure to give her—as much as I can without sacrificing myself. Tonight, I’m going to see every square inch of Pretty_in_Purple’s tight little body.

What I don’t realize is . . . I’ll never get over it.

VIOLET ISN’T at the house. Her car isn’t here. All her stuff is gone. I can tell because usually it’s all the fuck over the place, and now it’s mysteriously not. I even poked my head into her room, and it looks like it did the day I moved in. The only thing of hers that’s left is Pipsqueak, who still whinnies loud enough to hurt my ears every time she sees me.

I started out worried when I couldn’t find her. I spent all day at work beating myself up for being an overbearing asshole last night. I couldn’t help it. The thought of her falling off and getting hurt had me tied up in knots. I know how wrong that can go because I’ve seen it firsthand.

But now, this? It feels even worse. I hadn’t wanted Violet living in my space. I was annoyed, and it had nothing to do with her and everything to do with the level of privacy I like. I’ve grown accustomed to having her around in the last month, though. From the smell of the coffee she makes every morning, to the quiet murmur of her voice when she calls home every few nights, to the random shit she leaves all over the place.

I think I’ve actually started to like it. To crave it. To look forward to it. And now I’ve gone and been such a dick she packed up and left without saying a thing. Again. Not that she owed me an explanation. Her leg is better—why would she stay anyway? I’m terrible company, and I know it. And once people get to know me, they rarely stick around. Why would Violet be any different?

I’ve done nothing to endear myself to her. Quite the opposite, in fact. I’ve acted like a total jackoff and mauled her a couple of times when I couldn’t help myself. And then I turned and walked away like the fucking coward I’ve become. That day on the floor, she basically told me she wanted me to touch her. Her blue eyes all soft and alluring. Her soft lips parted, just begging to be kissed.

I wanted her, and she wanted me, and somehow, I still couldn’t figure it out.

March into enemy territory? No problem. Face the girl you haven’t been able to stop thinking about for two years? No fucking chance.

I am such a pussy.

My fingers dance across the phone in my pocket, itching to call Trixie and ask her what I should do. But I know what she’ll tell me. She’ll tell me to stop being such a baby and to use my words. Okay, maybe not so colorfully, but still. Trixie is over my mopey self-hatred. I can tell because she recently started pushing me a little harder. Cutting into my streams of consciousness with those annoying rhetorical questions that make me reflect on myself.

I hate those fucking questions. I hate how fucking wrecked I am right now over her leaving. And I hate I’m grabbing my keys to march back out the door and confront her about it.

I pull up to the barn, park beside her death trap of a car—one more thing for me to worry about concerning Violet Eaton—and get out of my truck. I march up the stairs to her apartment and knock loudly, probably a little too aggressively.

“Coming!” I hear her call from the other side of the door as I look out over the horizon. The low sun casts a golden glow over the farm. With all the white fences and rolling hills, it’s kind of beautiful.

I shake my head. The water out here really must be poisoned. Beautiful. I almost roll my eyes, but the door opens and instead they bug out of my head as I stare back at Violet in tiny cotton short shorts rolled down at the waist and a white ribbed tank top with no bra.

“Did you change your mind . . .” She stops talking when she realizes it’s me and not whoever she was expecting. “Oh. Hey. I thought it was Billie.”

“Hey,” I reply, like me showing up on her doorstep is perfectly normal. Except I can’t tear my eyes away from her body, from where her nipples have gone instantly hard underneath her tank top. Just like that morning on the living room floor. The sight of them poking through her sports bra sent me over the edge. As if I hadn’t been struggling hard enough to keep my instant hard-on at bay every time we worked out, every time I touched her to correct her position or give her a little support. I’d worked out with women in the military. And it had always been just that—working out. Helping a fellow soldier.

But Violet is not a fellow soldier. I don’t know what she is anymore, other than firmly entrenched in my life and in my mind.

She must notice my gaze because she looks down quickly, squeaks, flushes pink, and then hides behind the door before narrowing her eyes at me. “What do you want, Cole?”

“You moved.”

“Yup. My leg is better. So . . .”

I blurt out the part that’s really bugging me. “You didn’t tell me.”

Her head quirks slightly as she grips the door in front of her like it’s a shield. “Didn’t know I needed your permission.”

“You don’t. I just . . .” I groan and run a hand through my hair, lost for the right words. I just what? I want her to come back. “I was worried. I didn’t know you’d left or where you were.” I cross my arms and look down at her. “I was worried. And you left your horse behind.”

I watch her face soften as her eyes scan me, framed by the pale blonde waves that spill down over her shoulders. The golden sunlight tints her eyes more of a turquoise color tonight; they’re a like a mood ring—constantly changing.

“Okay.” She nods. “That’s fair. I’m sorry I didn’t say anything. Friends don’t do that to each other.”

Friends? After I sucked my way up her chest and came close to totally losing control and fucking her bare on the living room floor, she’s referring to us as friends?

“Want to go on a hike with me tomorrow?”

“A hike?”

“Yeah. I’m ticking things off my bucket list. Time to take life by the horns again. Sasquatch Mountain is one of them. Billie is too scared to go with me.”

I raise one eyebrow, having a hard time imagining Billie Black fearing much.

“She thinks the Sasquatch might be real. You know, because of all the ‘sightings,’” Violet clarifies, holding one hand up to do air quotes.

My cheek tries to tug itself up a bit at the thought of finally having something to bug Billie about.

“I’ll go. I know the mountain well.”

“You do?” Her voice perks up at the prospect.

“Yeah. I know a good trail and lookout. I used to run it when I was trying to get fit for the military. Should only take a couple of hours.”

“Okay!” she says brightly, looking so happy I almost smile back at her before turning away.

“I’ll pick you up when I get back from work.” I wave over my shoulder, both wanting to stay near her and to get away from her as quickly as possible. I feel happy too, and it’s throwing me for a loop.

Maybe I didn’t run her off after all.

“YOU’RE LATE.”

“Pfff.” Violet waves me off as she climbs into my truck after making me wait for fifteen minutes. She wasn’t even done working when I pulled up at her place. “It’s just a few minutes.”

I imagine myself trying to tell a superior that in training and cringe. “If you’re not early, you’re late.” And being late in the military can cost lives. Violet doesn’t live with these pressures, these memories.

She straps herself in and slaps her bare thighs with excitement, ignoring me entirely. “Let’s go!”

Of course, she had to wear those tight fucking shorts again. The ones that leave absolutely nothing to the imagination. They hug every curve, including that tight, round ass I’m dying to put a handprint on. Something she probably wouldn’t like—I’m sure Hilary only pretended to. She did a lot of pretending, though. Until she didn’t. And her truths had cut like a knife. She’d left me with wounds I wouldn’t let heal. Wounds I pry open every morning when I look in the mirror and every night when I get ready for bed.

“I’m so excited!” Violet gushes as she looks over at me. Wearing that sports bra again too. This woman is a walking, talking memory. “You look hot.”

My arms stiffen on the wheel as we head down the road toward the nearby mountain. What? My eyes dart off the windshield in her direction just in time to see her go beet red and look all flustered.

“I mean your clothes! It’s warm out! The pants!” She’s scrambling to undo calling me hot, and I can’t help but laugh at how awkwardly she’s covering it up.

“Ugh.” She drops her head back on the seat and throws an arm over her eyes. “Every time you laugh, it’s at me!”

I chuckle because it’s true. “Yeah, but I laugh with you more than I’ve laughed in years.”

Her arm drops, and her head rolls in my direction as she looks at me. Really looks at me, like she can see right in through all the shields I’ve erected. All the walls, all the protection, it all goes to shit around Violet, and I’m thinking that might be okay. Maybe she wouldn’t be disappointed if she found out I wasn’t whole.

“That might be the nicest compliment anyone has ever given me,” she says sincerely.

I just grunt back, not sure what to respond with. I’ve shocked myself into silence, and we drive the rest of the way just like that. In a companionable silence.

When we pull up and walk past the little wooden sign that says, “LOOKOUT THIS WAY,” the silence continues. I lift one arm, ushering her onto the narrow path ahead of me, something I almost instantly regret. Because all it gives me is a completely uninterrupted view of her ass in tight shorts, the bottom crease of each cheek taunting me with every step.

I’ve done this path a million times, but never with the added challenge of a raging hard-on.

“This is beautiful,” she says, slightly breathless with the strain of climbing straight uphill.

“It is,” I reply, mostly breathless from trying not to stare at her ass but figuring out that even her ankles turn me on. Everything about her is driving me to distraction. The way her calf muscles flex with each long stride. The way her ponytail sways as she walks. I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about Violet. Wondering who she really was, what she was doing, if she’d ever read those messages, if she found someone else to chat with online—or maybe even a boyfriend in real life. But obsessing over her body this way is new to me.

“How much further?” She looks back at me over her shoulder with some stray hairs plastered to her damp temple, her cheeks flushed—not with embarrassment, but with life. With the rush of a new experience, a new place. Violet is living, and fuck, does it look good on her.

It makes me want to live too. To stop being such a hermit. To take risks, make friends, maybe even leave a vitamin bottle on the counter now and then—because who the fuck cares if everything is in perfect order all the time?

Life is messy, something I know well. But when did I decide that the solution to that was to stop living?

We’re so close to the top now, and I can’t wait to see what her face looks like when she gets to see the lookout over the lake.

But I hear a loud snap. And I fucking crumple.